


Too Much to Ask

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Gen, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur reveals secrets Alfred was never meant to hear.  Mild UKUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much to Ask

“What, you thought I didn’t know?” **  
**

France, that most passionate of nations, felt his empathy begin to wane as the threat of another English hissyfit loomed behind the darkness in Arthur’s eyes.  His gaze slipped to focus on the glass of wine in his hand.  “You could have fooled any of us, Arthur.”

America wished he could have said it was coincidence that brought them all together that night, with England only being aware of himself and France’s presence (and that latter part, that was waning a little as the rum flowed like water).  The truth was that their bosses had dragged them there with the intent of planning the fall of the Third Reich, and they hadn’t quite gotten anywhere.  Though nobody else in the room would admit it, Arthur had taken the greatest beating of the three, and yet -- somehow there he was, still bitter remembering the past.

Trust England of all nations to sour in the face over events from 200 years ago while Herr Hitler looked him in the face.

“I was strong too, when I was his age.” America frowned into his coke as the sound of Arthur swigging from an almost-empty bottle filled the quiet hotel bar.

“Ah, that’s right.  I’d forgotten.” France hadn’t, though he had tried to.

England’s eyes were lost in memories of battles long past; with a smile he took another long, long drink. “I used to rip the horses off of Rome’s chariots and hurl them right back at him.”

“I suppose it’s good little Alfred never got that idea, or you would have lost some good cannons.”

America’s coke was finished.  From a small crate of them, delivered on the same ship that brought the president and himself, another was carefully produced and uncapped -- the Moroccan bartender looked at it like it was liquid gold.  Alfred waved his hand, carefully muttered, “You can have it if you want it.”

There were people starving in this very country; he could go a night without a second coke at least.

“Why do we tell all the little colonies that they could be empires someday?”

“It’s a story we tell children, that’s all.”

“It’s a bold-faced lie.” The rum bottle was finally empty, but England tapped the bottom of it.  “It’s sick, is what it is.  Whether it’s fate or destiny or --”

“God,” France interjected.

Arthur scoffed.  “You, of all people, would bring him up.” The rum was gone, and so it was time for cigarettes -- even more of a luxury in the state he was in, but the knowledge that so many lay at the bottom of the ocean just made the one in his mouth taste all the sweeter: you missed one, Adolf.  The stinging of his wounds melted away in delicious, warm tobacco.  “I knew from the start that he’d be great, God had nothing to do with it.” Francis cast a doubtful look.  “What? That’s why I spoiled him.”

“I just assumed you had favorites.”

“I favor the strong, and the strongest was Alfred.”

“You’re so much like Rome,” Francis huffed at the little puff of the chest, remembered the Romanesque effigies that littered English cities, “-- Not in the good way, ami.” Not in the ‘paving the road for humanity’ kind of way.  In the ‘everything is mine and I’ll commit atrocities to prove it’ kind of way.

Though, Rome never saw it that way, and neither would England.

Wobbly on his feet, Arthur stood.  “I am _nothing_ like Rome.”

“Oh?”

“Rome left.  He left you, he left -- me, he --”

“Where is your favorite colony now, Arthur? Is he still with you or not?”

The nation of England sneered until tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes and hung on his chin; America had seen the sight but once, and that was plenty for him.  The bartender looked vaguely concerned but kept his eyes firmly on polishing the dirty glasses.

“From the moment I saw him, I knew -- he’d be great.  He’d be the next Rome, after me.” Al bit his lip and wondered why he didn’t feel any pride upon hearing that, “I knew he’d have a spectacular life, Francis.  All I wanted was to be a part of it.”


End file.
